


Of The Realm

by entanglednow



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-18
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a knight of Camelot involves a lot more sitting around and not doing much than Gwaine had been expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of The Realm

  
Being a knight of Camelot involves a lot more sitting around and not doing much than Gwaine had been expecting. So it's not surprising that he's up for any excuse to go on a grand adventure, even with the threat of nasty magical death. After all, there's always a celebration when they come back - nasty magical threat appearing or not. Arthur knows the value of wine and dancing, even if he tends to watch it all happen rather than join them, expression too old and too serious for his face.

Leon meets him with an awkward sort of half smile, as if he's genuinely pleased to see him. Gwaine laughs, and - because the wine is already flowing - he throws an arm over Leon's shoulder, fingers tight for a second in the red of his cloak.

He pulls and Leon lets himself be led, wherever Gwaine wishes to go. It's a bad habit, and one he'll probably break, eventually. Gwaine thinks he'll enjoy it while it lasts.

He's not going to pretend he hasn't wondered. If Leon would be as polite in bed, if he'd be all soft words and apologies. Or whether he'd be selfish, whether he's the sort of man who'd shove your face into the pillow and fuck you so hard you'd feel it for a week. It's always the quiet ones after all. Gwaine's decided he wouldn't mind a bit which one he ended up with. But he's resisted, there's something strangely proper about Leon, and he's loyal, noble. Gwaine doesn't think that brief, fleeting things are in his nature, and Gwaine doesn't know how to do anything else.

He's still curious though. Oh, he's so very curious, and curiousity is a dangerous thing. It makes you do stupid things. He's been very good at not doing stupid things since he was roped into fighting an unkillable zombie army and then made a knight of Camelot. Though, to be fair, that may always remain the stupidest thing he's ever done.

It's easy enough to take the wine wandering, to find the long corridors and the empty rooms of a high floor, talking quietly, laughing when the wine leaves him warm.

Until there's nowhere else to go, the rooms up here dark and unused. Leon's face is lit by nothing but a long curve of moonlight. He looks serious and intent, and younger than Gwaine remembers. There's no more wine, though Gwaine's already had enough that it seems easier than it did before.

"You can kiss me if you like."

"What?" Leon looks so startled that Gwaine has to laugh.

"You look at me as if you'd like to sometimes. I'm just saying, I wouldn't mind, if you decide to."

"Gwaine." Leon doesn't get any farther than his name. But it's soft, and he doesn't step back. Gwaine’s played this dance enough times to recognise the flavour of hesitation. There's willingness under the layers of uncertainty.

"You've never messed around with any of the other knights?" Gwaine asks.

"No." Leon's frowning now, confused, or embarrassed, or perhaps both.

"With one of the male servants?" Gwaine tries. But no, it's already clear that never happened before Leon pulls a face like Gwaine's just suggested something completely scandalous.

Gwaine smiles and Leon's forehead creases unhappily, as if he thinks he's being made fun of. Gwaine almost feels bad about that, because that's the last thing he wants. He sets the wine down and reaches for Leon's wrist, uses it to pull him closer, and the other knight looks surprised right up until Gwaine gets his mouth under his own.

Leon's hand is cold, his mouth is warmer and there's just the faintest pressure, something only a generous man would call a kiss. It's careful in a way Gwaine hasn't come across in a long time. He exhales something too quiet to be laughter against his mouth - leaves the barest space between them.

"I won't break," he reassures him.

Leon still seems uncertain, but he carefully pushes his fingers into Gwaine's hair, slowly, like he's not sure if he's allowed. As if Gwaine's daring hasn't already given him permission. The way they curl against his scalp, Gwaine thinks he'd been thinking of it, that perhaps he'd imagined it.

"Kiss me," Gwaine says with a laugh, and a tug.

Leon makes a short, broken noise and obeys. It takes just a few seconds to become a fierce, open-mouthed kiss, and Gwaine meets it, takes it, pulls Leon into him until he understands that Gwaine wants exactly what he's holding back.

Gwaine isn't sure he's going to be content with a kiss.

He fists a hand in Leon's hair, finds the half-curls warm underneath.

"Spend the night with me." Gwaine sounds drunk on wine and lust. There's a flare of breath against his mouth, surprise, or need, or something else entirely. "I find myself curious to know what sort of man you are."

"Fuck," Leon breathes against his ear, then again, a soft, almost embarrassed burst of profanity that gradually gets more and more strangled when Gwaine pulls him towards the doors.

There's a room, small and dark, further along the corridor, and Gwaine pushes the heavy door shut behind them. The light from the window is just enough for Gwaine to discover that Leon is all pale curves of muscle and hair under his clothes, warm wherever he lays his hands.

Leon's own hands slide and catch, try to hold onto him, voice a rush of strangled pleas and urgency. Directionless, like he isn't sure what he wants. Gwaine tugs his head up and kisses him, hips pushing up into his own in a slow, lazy rock. Wordless reminder that they both want the same thing.

Gwaine pulls him in, because he can, kisses him sharply.

"Do you want me on my back, or on my hands and knees?"

"Oh God." Leon's eyes fall shut, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise at his waist.

"Tell me," Gwaine urges.

"I just want you," Leon says quietly, tone desperate, and Gwaine can't do anything but untangle them from the rest of their clothes.

There's oil, from somewhere, slippery and cold - and then warm - spilled on the sheets and Gwaine's stomach, slicked between Leon's fingers then pushed _inside_ him. He stills, watches Leon's face, expression stunned and hot. Gwaine cuts his exploration short, easing back and turning over, hair falling round his face.

Leon's hands curve carefully round Gwaine's waist and pull him down, hips pressing up at the same time. Gwaine lets him, spine curving on a groan, body slowly opening around Leon's strong push. The first few thrusts are shaky, almost as if Leon's afraid of pushing too hard, too deep.

He stops moving, suddenly.

"Gwaine, I want to see you," Leon manages, voice low, cut to pieces.

It's a request he's more than happy to grant. He shifts forward out of Leon's grip, slithers over in the sheets in answer.

"Oh." Leon's voice is soft, like he has nothing else, and Gwaine pulls his body down, legs spreading around him. Leon's awkward for a second, finding where Gwaine's slippery with a curse and then pushing back inside, deep enough to steal his breath and Gwaine hikes a leg up over his waist and round his back, breathing fast, dick hard and leaking where it's crushed against his stomach.

Leon proves he can be rough, when Gwaine urges him to, hand braced on the wall behind him, a stream of low, filthy suggestions breaking free when Gwaine has the breath for them. Leon obeys when he can, kisses him when he can't. Gwaine tugs Leon down by his hair when his mouth runs away from him, a breathless fall of words that Gwaine can't hear. But he loses track of everything else when Leon touches him, hand sliding between then both - he's not expecting it, the strong grip and the faint edge of slipperiness on his fingers. He's close already and it takes almost nothing to push him over the edge. Leon watches him, forcing himself to stop moving when Gwaine tenses, fingers tangling in the sheets, stomach suddenly warm and wet. He's loose-limbed, shivery and sensitive when Leon starts moving again, harder pushes, deep when he can't help it. He's still talking, soft, shaken.

Gwaine stops trying to quiet him.

They end up with one red cloak thrown over the both of them, Leon breathing slowly and steadily into Gwaine's neck, arm curled round the damp skin of his waist.

Gwaine doesn't sleep.

The crisp air coming in the window gradually chips away at the warm glow of alcohol, leaving his head colder, sharper, and more aware of exactly what he's done. He can't remember ever making a mistake without a head full of wine. But this is the first time he knows he will deserve whatever comes after.

Gwaine quietly slips free of the bed, makes his way back through the dark corridors, to his own room.

  



End file.
